


King of Bad Choices

by Winnie_Chester



Series: Two Seconds Sam Doesn't Remember [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Suicidal Sam, Unrequited Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3071561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winnie_Chester/pseuds/Winnie_Chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean acts weird and Sam misses another opportunity to tell his brother the truth. </p><p>Takes place one week after "Two Seconds Sam Doesn't Remember".</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of Bad Choices

On Tuesday Dean had asked to borrow Sam’s phone, claiming his battery was dead, before knocking Sam into the fucking freezing, algae-covered motel swimming pool, something he hadn’t done in at least a decade. He’d then run back to their room and locked the door until Sam promised not to return the favor in exchange for towels and the ability to take a warm shower. 

While Sam was trying to decontaminate himself and rinse out his jeans, Dean had ordered him two different kinds of veggie pizza, which Sam had interpreted as an apology, or maybe a white flag. Warm and full, he’d decided to let the pool incident go instead of retaliating.

On Wednesday Dean had turned off Sam’s alarm and let him sleep in. Sam had awakened to an egg white and turkey bacon breakfast sandwich, a green smoothie and a large white chocolate mocha, which was a coffee Sam actually hated but understood to be Dean trying to do something nice. Sam wrote it off as Dean really _really_ not wanting to get pushed into the pool when they checked out. 

Dean had also let Sam drive for the entire morning and had actually bought him an apple when they stopped for gas. Sam thought it was almost worth the toxic swim. 

On Thursday Dean had awakened Sam—who still had five minutes left before his alarm went off—by dumping water in his face. He’d them proceeded to use both Sam’s razor and Sam’s toothbrush and all the hot water. Dean didn’t usually layer his dick moves quite so thickly. 

They both spent the entire drive in foul moods, barely talking, but when they’d checked into the motel that night Dean had taken out the needle and thread and fixed the missing button on Sam’s favorite shirt and stitched up the latest holes in both of their jeans, and after their rocky morning Sam had no idea what to make of that.

On Friday Dean had hip checked Sam into the motel door so hard that Sam was going to have a bruise for a week. He’d also abandoned Sam to research alone in the library all day, not even offering to stay and keep him company, but when he’d come back to pick up Sam and had noticed him rolling his shoulders—Sam really needed to get better about not hunching over books—Dean had actually leaned over and rubbed them for a minute, using his thumbs to smooth out the muscles and work out the soreness. 

But after dinner--during which Dean had not once called Sam’ Princess or commented on his salad and had also let him have a few of his chili fries (which Sam hadn’t even wanted, he’d only stolen a couple to see how far Dean’s sudden good will would extend)-- Dean had dropped Sam off at the motel by himself and gone drinking, making it quite clear that Sam was not invited. 

Sam was beginning to suffer whiplash. 

Sam wasn’t sure what time Dean had gotten back on Friday night—sometime after Sam had given up trying to figure out what the fuck was going on with his brother and fallen asleep—but by the time Sam woke up on Saturday Dean was already awake, stuffing their laundry into a duffle and scrounging for quarters. 

Sam was starting to wonder if maybe Dean had a brain tumor. Dean hated going to the Laundromat—they both did--and it was, for sure, Sam’s turn. As confused as Sam was, he wasn’t about to take over laundry duty, so instead of saying anything he powered up his laptop and doubled down on trying to figure out who or what it was that kept disappearing teenage boys from this small town every ten years or so. 

By the time Dean came back with a heap of folded laundry—another miracle—Sam had it pretty much narrowed down. He was pretty sure that one of the cheerleaders was a vampire. He’d missed it yesterday, but today he’d noticed that a very similar blonde head kept showing up in news reports decades apart, which would explain the popularity link between the missing boys. 

It only took a few hours to track her down and behead her. After, Dean had clapped Sam on the back and told him he’d done a good job with the research and had let Sam have first shower, all of which almost never happened. Of course, at some point while Sam was in the bathroom Dean had also managed to change Sam’s setting so his entire phone was suddenly in German. 

Sam thought maybe he was going crazy. 

By Sunday evening, after a day in the car during which Dean had both switched out tapes just because Sam had asked him to, which was completely unheard of, and had spent all of lunch chewing with his mouth open and being so generally disgusting that Sam had eventually lost his appetite, Sam couldn’t take it anymore. He’d spent the entire ride trying his damnedest to figure out what the hell was up with his brother. A quick _Cristo_ ruled out demonic possession—which wouldn’t have explained all the equally unsettling random niceness, anyway—and Sam couldn’t imagine a shape shifter going through all the trouble of taking the place of Dean Winchester just for the sole purpose of destabilizing the equilibrium of Sam’s life. 

Sam can’t figure out why _Dean Winchester_ would be expending so much energy destabilizing Sam’s equilibrium, either, but despite living in his pocket for most of their lives, Dean did crap Sam couldn’t understand the reasoning behind literally all the time. 

So when Dean offered Sam first dibs on the last beer immediately after giving him an Indian burn, Sam found he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“What the hell is with you, dude?” 

Dean looked surprised. “I didn’t realize you were so anti-beer.”

“Knock it off. You know what I’m talking about!” Sam started pacing the room, but Dean continued to sit on the edge of his bed, blinking. 

“Actually, I don’t. Care to enlighten me?”

Sam turned to face his brother. “What I can’t figure out is if you are trying to make me crazy, or if that is just a byproduct.” 

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not doing anything Sam. Let it go.”

“Yes you are and you fucking know it. You have been so goddamn hot and cold with me all week. I’m on pins and needles with you—I don’t know what to expect!” Sam was a little bit out of control now, his voice too loud, gesturing wildly with the beer. “You are gaslighting me or something. You are making me feel goddamn crazy.” 

Dean rose to his feet. “Oh, _I_ introduced crazy into this relationship? _Me_?” 

Sam froze. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, Sammy. What do I mean by that?”

Sam tried not to panic, tried to shut down this avenue of conversation. “I’m just tired of living with Bizarro Dean, okay? I just want things to go back to normal.”

“How are things supposed to go back to normal when last week you looked at me—“ Dean cut himself off, looked away. He hadn’t meant to go there. Of course, it was no surprise he had, as he hadn’t stopped thinking about it for one goddamn moment. 

Sam felt his blood run cold—this was in no way what he had expected Dean to say. Last week he’d gotten wasted, wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten home. But surely he couldn’t have been that stupid. A hundred close calls and whiskey was going to be his downfall? Sam could barely breathe. _So this is what it felt like when your world came crashing down._

But Dean had said “”looked” not “kissed” or “vowed your undying love.” Dean didn’t actually know anything, not for sure. Not yet. 

Sam clung to this, willed himself to get it together. “I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about.”

Which gutted Dean. He’d spent all week trying to get his head wrapped around this whatever-it-was. Not that Dean was in anyway prepared for this conversation. Dean was pretty good at keeping his own council, and had the inside of his head pretty well mapped out, but he still wasn’t sure what this all meant, what he felt about it. And he hadn’t once seriously considered the possibility that it had all been in his head. And if it was, what the fuck did that say about him? 

“Sam--“

Sam’s face turned to stone, and he fisted a hand into Dean’s jacket, all dangerous hunter and no trace of baby brother. “No, Dean. I have no idea what the hell it is you think you are implying and I don’t want to know. But you are going to drop it, okay? Leave it the fuck alone,” he hissed. Throw in a knife or his gun, and Sam may as well have been threatening a monster.

Which was, a little bit, how it felt to Sam, too. Sam was pretty sure Dean had no idea how much danger this conversation put them both in. That this was Sam’s way of protecting his brother. 

Dean shrugged Sam’s hand off him. “Fine! You don’t want to talk, we won’t talk.” Dean grabbed his keys off the dresser and barked at his brother “I’m going out. Be asleep when I get back. We are leaving early tomorrow.” An order which had unflattering shades of John Winchester all over it. Dean hated that about himself. 

The moment the door slammed, Sam gave in to his panic, collapsing onto the floor, his vision tunneling, his breath coming in big ragged gasps. But this, this was his chance. He could leave Dean a note, something about needing some time apart. Pack up some of his stuff, take his gun and quietly disappear, take himself out of Dean’s life completely. Maybe this was his second chance to do the right thing. 

What else was he supposed to do? Everything was unraveling.

Sam washed his face, found a piece of paper, scrawled his note, and shouldered his duffle, his gun cold against his back. He only bothered to bring one bullet. 

He was surprised to find the Impala still in the parking lot, even more so when he made out the shape of his brother in the front seat. Dean had seen him—the parking lot was well lit and Dean didn’t tend to miss much—so Sam resigned himself to his leaving not going quite as cleanly as he had planned. Still, he was going to go. He wasn’t going to get another chance like this and he knew it. 

Without glancing at him, Dean leaned over and opened the side door. Sam debated—he didn’t think Dean would chase him if he ignored the gesture, but couldn’t be totally sure--before sliding in, silently. What was there to say? _Caught me: I'm running away again!_

The car was cold, Dean hadn’t bothered to turn it on, and Sam could almost see his breath. Dean had a new bottle of whiskey caught between his knees, but he didn’t make any move to open it. He was spinning his ring around his finger, looking everywhere but Sam. 

The silence stretched around them. Sam hated himself for getting in the car. _Sam Winchester, king of bad choices._

When he spoke, Dean’s voice was thick. “I won’t force you to stay, but I don’t want you to go. No matter what.” Sam stayed quite, tried to ignore the way that hooked under his ribs. Reminded himself that Dean didn’t know what he was asking. That Sam had spent his whole life trying to keep it that way. That staying put all of that and everything they had in jeopardy. 

Dean put his hands on the steering wheel, gripping it so hard his fingers turned white. “Please. Sammy, please.” Dean’s voice broke, along with Sam’s resolve. 

Dean wasn’t sure what he’d do if Sam said no. Sam probably thought it would be easier on both of them, but Sam was fucking stupid--Dean knew that wouldn’t be the case. Even with all the damage they did to each other, they were a hundred times better together than apart. 

Sam felt fucking stupid. He was stupid and selfish but he loved his brother and even though he knew he should, deep down he didn’t want to leave him. Dean was Sam’s whole world, which was, of course, the problem. 

Sam took a moment to loath himself before swallowing, nodding. 

Dean smiled, relieved, and it cut Sam like a knife. _I’ve finally ruined us both and he thinks I did him a favor._


End file.
